


A dove escaping into the darkness

by Elizabeth G (WhiteCloud)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Black Butler Style, Character Growth, Demons, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Gothic, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Master/Servant, Mentions of Violence, Romance, Self-Sacrifice, Sincere Characters, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Strong Female Characters, Underage - Freeform, Victorian, anxious characters, but for that period it’s fine, courtesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28089165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCloud/pseuds/Elizabeth%20G
Summary: After being stoned, Lucia became a demon, for some reason bearing the fair soulmate mark, bonding her to a human being. She was happy to have one, although it also meant to be an outcast among the demons. Lucia decided to try living in the human world. In the suit of a servant, she came to a landlord’s mansion, hoping one day to meet the creature she was destined to. She endured cruel bullying as a maid, and, feeling ruined but not destroyed, continued her path which then took her to the little silver-haired mistress.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I was inspired to write it after watching Black Butler. I wanted to see genuine love between Ciel and Sebastian, but the lie and selfishness between them made me so disappointed. I needed them sincere and kind!!! ) But when I started to create such a story in my mind, I realized that the characters changed so much it became merely impossible to recognize them. So I braved to make original work with my own characters and finally get the catharsis I needed.

Lucia meticulously viewed the content of the tray: thick five-layered slices of the liver casserole, filled with eggs and grated carrots, spiced with garlic. The cheese of different sorts between the layers and on top gave the slices the golden tinge, making them glow on the plates. She couldn’t sense it as a demon, but her experience prompted her that the dishes smelled appetizingly if not heavenly, so she, the maid, allowed herself a self-contended grin while tentatively serving food to her masters. 

She had bowed before she started to arrange the plates and utensils. The tranquil looking man with a grey mustache nodded her politely — it was the father of the family. The anemic redhead mistress continued to peer into the space between the vase of dark lilacs and the tablecloth; her forehead was often wrinkled, showing the tension of her thoughts, which should’ve been heavier than the weight of the countless books in her library. And the last was—

Swift silver-winged birdy launched herself into Lucia’s embrace. She was the younger mistress — the single, beloved daughter of the family. 

“Oh, Lucia, our breakfast looks divine! You help us so much. You’re perfect,” she chirped with unadulterated adoration, whole exuberant, vibrant in Lucia’s arms like the brooks of magic forests. Meanwhile, from her father she inherited that pensive tranquility of humble winter river. 

Her hands were cold against the fabric of Lucia’s jacket, but her heart was beating feverishly against her ribs, radiating hot, bittersweet agitation. 

Lucia loved her.

“My young lady, I’m delighted to see that you’re in a lively mood today. Pardon me, I’m your servant,” she withdrew the girl a little and then marveled at the feeling of that soul, grasping her with its transparent tendrils. The view was enchanting as well as blinding for a demon, so she narrowed her eyes, careful not to reveal the crimson shine. “I’m a servant and you are not supposed to touch me. It’s inappropriate behavior,” she chastised the girl mildly.

That gray dove furrowed her wide gentle brows. She calmed down, at least for some minute, and turned the wondering glance towards the solemn table.

The mother tilted her head approvingly — the sharp prickle of icy eyes and the sweep of fiery locks. The father remained motionless, although he seemed to create the joined figure with his wife; together they turned into the sculpture of relentlessness. 

“Lucia is a friend,” the girl, Remy, reasoned. Her voice poured clearly, not making her look like a naïve child — she was a little old woman actually — rather like an honest advocate of all men. “She does her best to keep the mansion, and she works genuinely hard, unlike many other servants. And she looks after me so well. I feel I won’t be able to give her the gratefulness she deserves, for her sincerity, ever.”

“I am glad to hear that you’re happy with her, my daughter,” the mother pronounced evenly. “It’s good that Lucia worked so hard and thus became dear for our hearts. But she’s a maid, Remy. It’s a respectful status, yet it doesn’t give her permission to sit at the table with us. You may perceive it as cruelty. I advise you to treat the rule as a simple etiquette, a tradition of English houses, which couldn’t have been made because of one’s desire for cruelty.”

The mother never was really stern with Remy, so the girl knew there still was left space for discussion. She turned to Lucia, seeking for support, but the maid met her rebellious gaze with the softest of reproaches. 

-

The languish summer twilights fell, and Lucia greeted them while walking with the young mistress arm in arm towards the bathroom. Remy was floating deep in her turbid thoughts; her white gown coated her knees in silky waves; the plush gray towel on her shoulders reminded an animal, hiding under the ash of the lush child’s hair.

Lucia glided the gloved hand over Remy’s spine, leading her inside the room. 

She noticed the cursed mark every time she washed her lady. Remy was sitting in the bathtub with her knees bent and her forehead propped on them. The water steamed the odor of rosemary. 

The strands of wet silver hair reminded Lucia of the gray grass on mountains’ tops, lit up by the stars and moon. The hair leisurely stuck to the lady’s neck and lower was the mentioned mark, standing out on the skin of the small lean shoulder. Lucia didn’t dare to touch it, but her inner-self twitched at the feeling of the dark magical energy, tangling around her young mistress.

She probably couldn’t restrain the flame, flashing at the bottoms of her supernatural eyes, and maybe her teeth showed out a little bit, eager to devour. 

Remy didn’t notice the metamorphose, having turned her back at the devoted maid. She was never contemptuous towards Lucia who somehow had allured her from the first weeks of serving at the mansion. Remy rather tended to display her sincere gratefulness and friendliness, not ashamed to address generous gestures in her servant’s address. She had rarely missed a chance to give her hand to Lucia or to tuck her into a gentle childish embrace. 

There had to be some reason for her toughness today. 

“Is something bothering my lady?” Lucia asked without any insistency in her voice. 

It meant that Remy could dismiss her curiosity. But the head, full of grayish hair, nervously twisted to the side. 

“No. Everything’s alright, Lucia. You certainly don’t need to worry.

-

Lucia knew that her mother thought otherwise. As a demonic creature, she could read people well enough. Remy’s mother disliked her for sure: the clouds of disdain were swirling around her figure, mingling with wisps of pale-blue fog, which meant fright.

The mother wore the air of power and respectfulness, giving her the look of an antic heroine. The ginger curls glowed like candlelight and the anemic paleness inspired people to assume her a witch. Lucia would have felt her if she really was the one. 

Thanks to the mark, Lucia could deeply sense the rays of Remy’s soul. She pictured the image of the little gray lady, resting in the bathtub until Lucia helped her to the bed. The brittle bones-wings, the pretty pink spots of rash, which were the remnants of childhood diseases—The poor creature was so unlike her mother. 

The mistress loved her daughter but hated and feared the black-crested tit on her shoulder. It was she who first called it “the cursed mark”, “the demonic mark” — oh God, how could they get a demon’s child?

Ginger brows were furrowed at Lucia.

“Lucia, at first we must say, we’re sorry for calling you here at such a late hour. We’re conscious of how sternly restricted is your schedule. 

“I’m glad to serve at any hour, madam. Be sure that my devotion to your family is sincere. I feel rich with the work you’ve kindly given me,” she finished with a courteous bow, and her eyes sparkled only a little when the thick cloud of irritation flew from Remy’s mother.

“And you know well how we appreciate your service. You mean a lot to our house, Lucia. And my dear daughter is particularly fond of you.”

Lucia clicked her tongue soundlessly. 

Being a demon she wasn’t a liar. Her family should have mocked her plenty of times but she couldn’t restrain herself from the happiness of courtesy: she enjoyed politeness, manners, the sense of order in the mansion; even the comprehension of hypocrisy and disdain all around didn’t spoil her amusement. Remy was her weak spot though. The reminding of her tugged at the string inside Lucia, baffling her with the echo of bittersweet feelings. 

“I’m always eager to express my endless adoration for your child, madam. I wish her to become the richest lady in the country.”

“Your kind wishes oblige me. You know how deeply my daughter appreciates you,” the poison-green eyes narrowed, clearly hinting at the morning awkward episode. “I think such passionate affections might be dangerous, especially for the minds so young.”

“I’m so sorry, madam, if my behavior awakened your worries.”

“You serve us several years, Lucia. We have servants who share the mansion with us whole their life, yet I’m inclined to point out you as the most faithful.”

“I’m honored.” 

“Indeed,” the mistress almost interrupted her. “You’re exceptional maid, Lucia. Full of honor. Now I would like to know how really brave is your noble soul, and if you can sacrifice something very vital for your lady’s well-being.”

-

She could understand how Remy was feeling, carrying that bird on her shoulder blade — the cursed mark or the blessed mark, whether it came from God or Satan. Lucia inherited the one, too. As long as she remembered herself as a demonic creature, she was bearing the white symbol on her genuine rotten flesh. She could bow her head right now and see the spot of light above her chest, twinkling but always shining enough to blind. 

Lucia exhaled into the night air of her room, smoothly lit by the moon, with a trickle of blood — the candle fire — crossing the rueful canvas. The fire and the cursed mark joined into one before her eyes, painting in the back of her mind the picture of her as a human being she once was, hundred years ago. 

People of her hometown stoned her, they let her soul sprung free and be surrounded by demonic forces. Lucia despised those people for the punishment, so when the evil creatures made her an offer, she didn’t decline it.

She had been in love with the princess of her country. The country has vanished in wars and misery. She remained here — Lucia, the demon who fled from hell to find the new hell above the ground… 

-

She decided not to close her eyes.

The sound of the quick, hysteric steps shook the dawn sleepiness of the wood and stone. The noise of anguish neared, then it collapsed into the door, forcing the hinges to creak in pain. 

The lady’s breath was going out in hoarse puffs; it should’ve burned her lungs. 

Lucia imagined so vividly what the poor creature had to witness. No wonder that she stood there as if before a scaffold. The dead body was sprawled on the floor in front of her eyes — they were the stones, frozen under hoar — and the puddle of blood darkened near her numb feet. 

Remy breathed loudly, shakily.

“Oh, Lucia!” she paused, then said something which came out as a row of miserable choking sounds. “My friend,” she gasped through the dull pain in the chest. “My dearest friend.”

Lucia didn’t need to blink. She knew that her eyes should have looked sparkless — the shattered pieces of red glass, soaked in mud — but it couldn’t do any harm to her vision. Remy’s soul twinkled before her like the pale winter sun. The usual shine faded a little; the waves of anguish and turmoil disturbed the contemplative purity. 

There was a move behind Remy’s back. In a moment, the father stood at her side and grasped her wrist securely. It didn’t prevent Remy from crushing on the hard floor. She fell on her brittle knees, an inch from the edge of red wetness. 

“Oh, my servant, my maid, my dear companion,” the muffled wails pushed through the utterly dry throat. 

Remy coughed, then crouched in double, fighting off nausea. 

“It’s a murder!” soon she shouted aloud, desperate to awake everybody in the mansion. “Father! Mother! Someone killed Lucia!”

The mother was holding her palm close to her face, protecting her senses from the view and smells. She was disgusted. Fright crept into that transparent face and into the outlines of the bloodshot eyes. She was gaping at the wide knife, sticking out from the maid’s mutilated chest. The blade went out under direct angle, which indicated resolute, relentless hit. 

“She’s my single friend…”

“You also have your spouse and your duties as the future owner of the mansion,” mother pointed out firmly, masking the tremble under a mighty tone. “My daughter, you forgot the etiquette. Remember that other people are watching you.”

Remy violently shook her hand away from the father’s grip and hid her face behind the fingers. Her lashes were already wet, so the salty trickles immediately spilled out to make the shiny lines across her nails, pink knuckles, and thin outstanding veins. 

“It’s a pity. God will forgive Lucia’s sins and, hopefully, let her pass the Heavens' gate. But it’s not your sister, or cousin, or aunt laying here, Remy,” mother hissed reproachfully. “She’s a maid. Only a servant. Thus, compose yourself, daughter.”

Remy gazed in the faces of her parents the last time. Inwardly, she begged them for compassion, searching for at least a sparkle of mercifulness. 

Lucia couldn’t reach for her, so her head, gray as fog, finally fell down her shoulders, forehead almost touching the floor. Lucia barely kept herself from stirring when the young lady started to crawl forward on her hands and knees. 

“Darling, it’s a corpse,” the old man groaned above her. “It’s a corpse! Do not get close to it, I beg you!”

Remy found herself incapable to obey. She crept further into the puddle of cold blood. The terrible smell and sight didn’t matter when her world was tearing apart. She stumbled, conscious at the feeling of all the sticky redness, staining her palms, feet, and gown, smearing her with curse forever. She shook from the hit of yet unknown seizure: the disgust, cruelty, and darkness possessed her. She inwardly crushed but didn’t fall. 

The reproaching voices around grew louder when Remy’s dirty hands reached for the maid’s collar. If Lucia wasn’t a demon, she herself would've assumed the scene awful. She failed to experience any sternness towards Remy, but right now her mind was cherished by the thought that she couldn’t spring alive to placate her masters. Many horrors dwelled in the mansion, and at least one of them shouldn’t have to be concealed. 

Meanwhile, Remy’s feeble hands were caressing the purple crisp fabric of the maid’s jacket. She strived to give her friend the last comfort. Lucia would’ve not been able to stand her touch if she didn’t bear her white mark, allowing her to perceive human courtesy. The kindness didn’t have any taste, unlike the lusciously sweet sins, yet at least it couldn’t burn her being. 

Remy peered into her opened eyes, and Lucia hoped that belatedly she would've assumed they were dim crimson because of the lighting. Lucia couldn’t tame the supernatural spark when the soul within reach was going through such a dreary metamorphose. Its gleam ceased from white to grayish, and the web of subtle creaks spread from the chest further, mutilating the divine being.

The scarred soul, Lucia stated inwardly. Her insides pulsed so vigorously that she didn’t even hear the shouts around. 

-

After a few night visits to the mansion Lucia could say that Remy now looked older. The wrinkles of her soul have shown up as an illness on that once exuberant face. 

There was a tinge of tranquil sadness in her heart before: a grain deep in the humid ground, waiting to be grown; a yellow leaf, slowly floating along the drowsy winter brook, dreaming to be picked by a careful hand. Lucia longed to give a breath to that gloom and, with a light swirl of magic, turn it into bittersweetness. 

But when she stood up from her grave in the modest village cemetery, she had told herself that Remy should’ve remained in the past. 

“My poor lady!” she howled in tune with the freezing wind. Unlikely that this wind would’ve carried her voice into the lone mansion where the hurt mistress now should have had her restless sleep.

Lucia allowed herself to recall the memories of her ascent into the human world. She didn’t have much choice: the demons in Hell distrusted her from the beginning because she couldn’t conceal her fright of Satan and, of course, the blessed mark which had stuck to her flesh like a mocking.

She had felt herself a crippled soul in life, and in death she was born a crippled demon. There existed a certain way for the unfortunate creatures like herself — to take a human appearance and live as a hermit on earth, although she could eat souls like other demons. She even felt hungry for divinity.

The ways of surviving were carefully weighed by her during the valuable time in the loneliness. She was hiding in the forests for a while, avoiding the people and not less dangerous supernatural creatures. Then, desperate to find energy, she kept the archaic demonic tradition: to act as a servant of the human beings and thus gradually seduce them into selling their souls. 

She did hope though — the foreign emotion for a demon. The white mark on her shoulder was shining ceaselessly, not allowing her oblivion, maintaining inside her the feelings she should have lost after transformation. 

Caring, responsibility, earning to understand — those virtues of the previous life could leave the imprint of the guelder-rose corymb on her shoulder. Also, even as a demon, Lucia was keeping faith that one day she would've met a being with the mark, matching her own.

-

So often Remy spent her sleepless nights near the back shelves of the library. Servants might have heard her nervous pace along the dreary corridors, but nobody dared to invade in her space after those shakily whispered rumors about her developing insanity. The distress of seeing the maid's dead body was too sufficient, they said. So convenient. 

Remy bent to the lowest row of books. She could be seen in the night darkness because of her fairy gray hair, gleaming like stained silver under the poorest ray of light. Yet she didn't fear to be caught, too absorbed in her dangerous studies to notice anything except her placating companions: the moon and the melting grain of the candlelight.

The needed script was found. Some month ago she would have feared a single thought about betraying God’s commandments. Her brain was wrecked now, her heart broken, so letting her soul down didn’t seem important — she felt shattered anyway. 

Did she have anything to lose now? Probably, only her pain, because that was now the sensation, flooding every instant of her existence. 

She flipped through the pages bluntly, welcoming the exhaustion. She longed for something to drain and empty her. Finally, the familiar symbol stood out before her eyes. Somehow, she found this answer in the depths of her past: she was a tiny bubbling creature when her grandfather read her stories about demons. They had been only the silly fairy-tales to entertain the childish mind, he had later assured the exasperated mother. Remy had long forgotten the plots, but the idea that there was always a possibility to use the evil forces had been engraved in her unconsciousness. 

The letters of the Latin alphabet were chained into an ornamental frame. They explained the pentagram and waited for Remy’s voicing with an ominous gleam.

Cold silence was pouring between the furniture when Remy finished pronouncing the spell. She gulped — her throat dry and scratched — scrambling to avoid overthinking. She shouldn’t have doubted. If the spell didn’t work, she would blindly try again and again.

Remy lowered her hot swallowed lids, welcoming the throbbing emptiness in her head. Swimming in the realm of tranquil darkness, she let her shoulders fall, and then something similar to needles lightly prickled her nape. It could be easily the game of her anxious imagination but Remy stirred anyway.

She had flung her eyes open just before the dreadfully familiar voice echoed in the room, 

“Did you call me?”

What an impudence! Remy turned around on her heels. A figure in the shadow of the wall dared a step towards her, reviling her appearance. To Remy’s embarrassment, it wasn’t repulsive at all.

“You’re trying to fool me,” she said, letting her irritation spill while the fright and painful hope stayed deeply within. “You’ve intruded my mind and show me what I’m willing to see! Playing on my weakness!”

The figure tilted her head to the side as if troubled by the feeling of guilt.

“Hypocrisy!” 

The demon answered nothing. She was wearing the purple suit, same to the one Remy used to pat and pinch, and caress so often. 

Lucia as a maid could choose a traditional uniform, but she felt comfortable in the garment she’d put when visited them for the first time: the purple trousers and jacket on top of the black shirt. Mother compared her to begonia and never forced to wear a skirt. That is when the illusion of mother liking Lucia fogged Remy’s sight. But vainly. Still, nobody desired to investigate Lucia’s murder.

“You are my lady.”

The demon’s words snatched Remy out of her memories. 

“Demons are prone to lie, but I’m different.”

Remy intended to blurt out another rudeness. The soft amber eyes watched her without insistence or challenge, so she stopped, mute. 

“Unfortunately, last time you’ve seen the grotesque picture of me, my lady,” Lucia pulled the gloved hand to her heart. “My chest was pierced with a knife. I was laying in the puddle of blood. I saw how much blood there was. And also I couldn’t take my eyes away from you, my lady. I’m so sorry for taking you through such a horror. I don’t anticipate that someday you’ll find in your soul enough generosity to forgive me,” she finished, bending her stance in the usual formal bow, but her eyes—

Remy had assumed it a play of light when she noticed that Lucia’s eyes changed their tinge from warm amber to the dreary dim red. They had looked the same as they were now — demonic. 

“Are you really my beloved maid Lucia?”

“I am. And I didn’t make the transition. I was like that from the day we met and hundreds of years before my arrival at your mansion.”

“Are you a demon?”

“Yes, my lady. I am a creature of Evil. I was a human being once. The servants of darkness seduced me to follow them.”

“It’s a—” Remy lost her speech for a moment. Strangely, she didn’t feel terrified, or angry, or upset, only dizzy and exhausted to such extent that she could fall and be drawn into sleep just on the spot. “What happened that night… when I found you wounded?”

“Oh, my lady, nobody’s done it to me. So don’t torture yourself by guessing. I made that hit myself. Ordinary steel couldn’t kill me and, honestly, the pain worried me only a few hours. I spilled the blood of my flesh, but my genuine body wasn’t damaged. So I had to act dead, my lady. Once more, my deep redemption for the anguish I’ve put you through. Such insult can hardly be forgiven.”

Remy gasped, baffled. Luckily for her, blaming the maid never was her first instinct. 

“Why it happened — your… murder?”

“Rather a suicide, I must admit.”

“Suicide.”

“Don’t be angry at your parents, my lady. They are caring, so they want good for you.” 

Remy hissed through her teeth. 

“I don’t feel like a child anymore, Lucia. I don’t trust them. And I think—Your lie may kill me, fairy creature. If you have any mercy, I bid you for it.”

“I am indeed Lucia. I am here because I’m happy to be your faithful servant. As well I’m devoted to you, privately.” 

Remy bit her lip. Bitterness had poisoned the air in her lungs, and she still couldn’t see any way to cherish herself. Was she ever happy? She always let the lie around daze her head.

“What’s with my parents?” Remy hinted grievously.

“They noticed how lovingly you treated me, my lady. It was inappropriate for a servant, to inflict such shame on her lady. Your parents politely asked me to withdraw, so you wouldn’t have distracted your attention because of my presence. Or my existence,” she then carefully added, what made Remy groan. “The decision was up to me.”

“It’s horrible…”

“I braved to stab myself with a knife. The picture should’ve probably been too grotesque for the human’s eyes. For the Christian eyes.” 

Remy winced. She lost the feeling of solid ground under her feet. Yet the fear of God couldn’t strike her. She couldn’t recall whether she slept a single night after Lucia’s fake death. Madness canceled the efforts of her teachers: it has released Remy from the rules of culture. 

“I don’t care if I’m a Christian anymore,” Remy dared to say aloud, exhaled it into the library, which held the air of her ancestors. “I’m standing before a demon, right?” not waiting for another confirmation, she scratched her nails along the book. “I’ve called you here, demon, with a purpose.”

“Yes, my lady,” Lucia bowed readily. Her gestures looked sincere, and it would please Remy if she wasn’t already that damaged. “After the incident in my bedroom, I was carried to the basement. At the dawn of the next day your parents buried me. I left my grave when nobody could see and joined the creatures of the nearby forest. There I had been loitering without a purpose till your call reached me. So what did you want, my lady?”

“I didn’t call for the certain demon. Did you have an encounter with others?” 

“Fortunately, no. I can feel you much better than any other demon. Therefore I was the first. I’ll explain you more, later.”

“I decided to call a demon for making a bargain,” Remy muttered, straightforwardly. She lost the taste for long elegant speeches. “I was going to sell my soul and thus revive you from the dead.”

Lucia froze, aghast.

“I’m startled by your readiness to sacrifice everything, my lady. Moreover, you’re a lady. But you were going to put yourself under endless tortures for the sake of a servant’s well-being.”

“I wanted to give my soul for your life. Because I felt responsibility as your master. But mostly because existing with the knowledge that you’re murdered was senseless for me. I knew I was powerless to find justice. And my parents fell from not caring to so much worse — they brought you to the grave. I became mad and couldn’t sleep or eat. Now, when I know the truth, my grief’s lightened. But I won’t last here anyway. I appreciate that you’re a demon. If you had pretended to love me—Well, I’ll take it. We’ll make the bargain and I’ll sign the contract. You will have my soul. For your good service in my mansion.”

“It wasn’t a lie, Remy!” Lucia exclaimed, despaired, as she was barely able to listen to the end. “I’m your maid Lucia. I had been looking after you for three delightful years. How can you think I have not loved you?”

“Your words—They awaken the sweet memory,” Remy admitted hoarsely.

“I am the happiest creature because of meeting you,” Lucia continued heatedly, not noticing that her eyes had demonically flickered with crimson. That fire could’ve ignited because of their talk about the contract and selling the soul though. Remy liked to see Lucia excited anyway. “I can’t make the contract with you. Any demon would do it, yet I am glad to be different. You can’t perceive it while I’m in my human form, but there is the mark on my shoulder — like yours, only from another side.”

The storm in Remy’s head subsided for a bit, which brought her a sense of clarity as if she got up after a short slumber. She raised her brows at Lucia’s words, recalling how she had heard the stories about the blessed marks before, in her childhood.

“My mark has a form of a guelder-rose corymb. And yours is a bird — a crested tit. Therefore you can be sure I am Lucia. I used to undress you and clean your body. That’s how I have seen the bird so many times. No other demon can know about her.”

“The guelder-rose corymb… But the mark means you have a soulmate, as the stories tell us. I thought you don’t have a soul.” 

“Rather, I don’t own a body. My body is dead. The whole of my being is a soul. At least I dare to guess so, my lady. I had gathered some knowledge of this subject. Sometimes supernatural creatures may have a soulmate of another kind. There are some demons who have got the blessed or the cursed mark... Oh, my lady, your words about the contract were so brave. But I can't kill you, at least not right now, for nothing." 

"You're right," Remy muttered pensively into the wooden floor. 

"Besides, I hope you'll forgive me my audacity, my lady is a child. You have to learn and enjoy yet many things in this life." 

"Oh," Remy laughed bitterly. "My parents robbed me of the ability to enjoy." 

Lucia should have invaded, but suddenly, so intelligent and artful, she lost all the words. So Remy went on, sour and vengeful; her figure dissolving in the surrounding gloom. 

"You can't miraculously turn back to life and work in our mansion as if your death has been a dream. So I'll say my parents about my destination: I've called a demon and sold my soul hoping to revive you. The demon fulfilled his part of the bargain and you, Lucia, would demonstrate it by entering the parlor and bowing in front of them ever so solemnly." 

"It's such a cruelty, my lady." 

"I'll be even crueler when I tell them that I'll die soon and become a servant of the demon I've bargained with. The whole country will find out that the lady protected the servant with her life. That's how noble people should do." 

Lucia made a low bow, stricken to the core of her rotten being.

-

Unlike the other, “fortunate” demons, Lucia was able to experience the inward pain — a heartache or the suffering of the soul, how mortals would’ve called it. The comprehension of her vulnerability made her create strict rules of living. She trained herself not to keep memories. Every human day turned into a separate dimension and there was no yesterday to hurt her, no pain to harbor.

That’s how she managed to stand the bullying of the… of the—She had promised herself not to revive him, but the picture of those features twinkled in front of her vision, rather enchantingly than threateningly. Well, sometimes she should’ve allowed herself the freedom of contemplating her past. There were always exceptions. 

She recalled those thin knobby legs, so often filling her sight because she used to bow deeply into his feet. The boy was her first master. He never called her a maid, only a servant, meaning that she had to endure any possible torment for his sake. 

Lucia didn’t pay attention to his arrogant behavior the first week of her service, then the second. The real pain struck her when the boy threw a stone into her. That’s how she had been killed as a human being. Lucia turned in his direction, shaken by horror and disgust, but the boy never meant to apologize. A few more stones flung into the air, hitting her hip, her shoulder, and finally, leaving a bleeding scratch on her forehead.

His parents saw the wounds, but their single order was to keep herself clean, so not the tiniest droplet of blood should’ve been found on the treasured floors and carpets. Considering, it was a servant’s blood. Also, Lucia should’ve concealed the mutilations to not scare or upset the guests of the mansion. All relatives were fond of that boy. 

Lucia didn’t try to punish him, although her supernatural powers allowed her the subtle invisible revenge. 

She whined quietly when the young master poured the stream of boiling water on her hands. Then he ordered her to slowly slip off the gloves what should’ve brought the dreadful anguish to the human flesh. Lucia liked the mosaic of white blasters instead but didn’t let the crimson in her eyes spill.

She winced and elicited a painful groan when the boy was burning her palm with the fire of a candle. Again, gloved, because the boy loathed her body to the same extent Lucia was loathing his soul.

At last, she endured when her fingers were cruelly beaten by a hummer. 

She lost appetite and in the hours of dreaming the shining guelder-rose whispered to her that she had nothing to do in the mansion anymore.

So that’s what being a servant meant. The melodies of enchanted forests tickled her ears, but after the decades of wandering she wasn’t inclined to stop the search. She knew she was destined to a human being.

She didn’t want to hope, knowing how weary it could make her anxious being. When the grey-haired girl raised her gaze to her for the first time, she didn’t dare to move. 

-

"My mistress," she pressed her palm into her chest, lowering on the floor before the startled woman. "I have no words to express what happened from my point of view. I should've been in heaven but, unfortunately, the memory of that slipped off my head. Well, I'm not worthy of it, anyway." 

The mistress gaped at the maid with her face becoming violet the more she comprehended what Remy has already said to her and that it wasn't a delusion. The irritation slowly dissipated from that tight heart, replaced by the freezing touch of horror and grief. Lucia shut her eyes to hide the crimson flicker while her face wrinkled in a grimace of artificial agony. 

"My deepest condolences, madam. I don't appreciate the decision of your daughter either. The master can't sell himself for the sake of a servant, it's ridiculous. If I only could take it back, I would gladly go to hell to spare my young lady from her doom." 

She could see how mistress' chest heaved under the corset. She raised her feeble hand to wipe away the wetness from her forehead and from the truss of ginger curls, sticking to the skin. There was no need of supernatural power to realize that she was feeling unwell. She loved her daughter in a strange, authoritative way but, still, sincerely; meanwhile, Lucia was feeding her with hypocrisy as if mocking all those hurt maternal feelings.

Lucia could stop, for sure, if there was the smallest hint from Remy that the scene should've been finished. Remy, standing by her side, didn't protest though; her soul twinkled under the web of creaks, spared from emotions. 

"So unfair," Lucia went on, implying as much dramatization as it was necessary for politeness. "I know you're willing to kill me, mistress. I would not object at all. If only my death didn’t upset the young lady so much. I won't bear her fading as well as you — surely, I don't desire to live without her. So if you could collect at least the half of generosity your heart is capable of, you would do me the greatest favor and put me alive in the coffin of the young lady, so I could serve her in another world, forever." 

The mistress tilted her head, helpless to conceal her expression. The bony hand flung to her décolletage; the nails scratching hard against the transparent, veiny surface of the skin. Suddenly, Remy shook like a bird in coldness, as if to clean the feathers from the snow dust. The vengeful grin on her lips was barely perceptible.


	2. Chapter 2

The young lady was leaning over the table, scraping along the paper with an exquisite feather pen, her posture frail and absorbed. 

Lucia could distinguish her waving pale air. The girl froze. Whole fair, in her blue blouse, with her grayish hair, she resembled a dove, exhausted, yet still kicking her wings. 

"Does my lady desire some more tea?" 

Remy shook her head slightly. She frowned in concentration, finishing the last lines of a letter, and soon the pen was left in an inkstand and the celestial eyes were tiredly wandering around the cabinet. 

"I do not, Lucia. You know how people may spoil my appetite." 

The maid raised her hand, letting Remy notice only a shadow of her smirk. 

"I do believe they don't irritate my lady very often. Otherwise, I should be dreadfully worried about her health." 

"No. I'm fine," Remy muttered, stretching the vowels. Her voice sounded girlish, nevertheless unusually low as if her throat had recently recovered after a disease. Remy hadn't been ill though. She bloomed, growing up, and the sight of it made Lucia’s breath hitch. 

"I love you," she let out mildly, high on the wave of gentleness. 

Remy didn't move, not betraying her absent-minded posture, although she’d felt a painful move in her chest, lowering to her stomach to cause slight nausea. 

"What did you say?" she pretended not to hear, hoping that Lucia would’ve not confessed such intimate thing the second time, but vainly. 

"I love you," the response poured out, clear and melodic. 

Now Remy was evidently panicking. She rubbed her forehead, knowing for sure that she had blushed heavily, but was unable to will it back or to cover. At least her hand didn't shake from the embarrassment when she made a beckoning gesture towards the tray. She took a teacup then, and sipped huskily, burning her lips and tongue. Her mouth was full now, and it could be a reason not to answer. 

-

"I'm honored by your good attitude towards me, Lucia," she said in the evening when they were standing near the bedroom's window, dark and silent under the touch of the moon. 

The solemnity of the phrase made Lucia grin. She didn't let it be noticeable though.

"It's not a thing a lady may say to her maid." 

"We are not them. There're our roles only," Remy interrupted her, trying to sound both politely and decisively. "I do appreciate your words of affection. I would like to answer like I've done it before. You know that your feelings are mutual. If sometimes I'm not capable of showing them, it doesn't mean they have lessened. It only means that I'm weak at the moment," she lowered her head, dizzy from the urge to cry. 

The tears were chaining her head with painful fog, but she knew she wouldn’t spill them. Her sorrow felt frozen and solid, and it stuck deep in her throat. The followed silence didn't depress her. Remy appreciated it as a display of compassion and politeness. Being encouraged, she ventured to go further, 

"But it won't be always like this. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to respond. I don't know it yet. I beg you to be patient with me, Lucia. You remember how open I was back in my childhood, but then a... a terrible misfortune happened to my soul." 

Remy didn't need to clarify. She could stand there quietly, under the worrying moonlight, and let her cold lips tremble. Lucia saw her soul. It was still shining, but not blinding for the demon's eyes anymore, since the subtle tissues of creaks had made it dim like the stained glass. The crippled soul should have had a bitter taste, although it was still a child's soul, gleaming with the snow-white hues. 

"I don't want you to let the past torture you, my lady," Lucia murmured and gave that pale forehead a chaste kiss.

-

She couldn't calm herself at night though. Demons were able to see dreams, but falling asleep seemed unthinkable in her present vulnerable state. She didn't undress, didn't lie down, facing the wall instead and pondering whether her lady was peaceful at the moment. 

The demonic tears were assumed an exceptional phenomenon. A phenomenon she'd been inclined to and therefore became an undesirable figure among demons. They were blaming the white guelder-rose on her genuine body. Historically, there weren't any examples of demons, living in harmony with such a gift.

Maybe, this mark had made her cry at the sight of the broken girl. But it was good that Lucia had been able to restrain herself, or her black demonic tears would have burned the mansion to the ground. 

The hot wet rush hit her head suddenly, and the thick tears poured down. She heard the hissing when the drops were burning the wooden floor. It could've been easily someone's skin or the soft shaking palms of her dear child. 

-  
"I'm willing to leave, indeed." 

Remy raised at her that pale unfocused gaze, the emptiness of it dissolved with gentle sorrow. 

"Well, it wasn't a cheerful place for me, although it brought me the happiness of meeting you, my love. This meeting should be the most important part of my existence." 

"But?" 

Lucia hesitated, afraid to wound her lady again. 

"I'm a servant, Remy," she ventured nonetheless, hoping that softness would’ve helped her to explain herself without hurting her beloved too much. “And I liked to serve at your house. Your parents weren’t happy with me at times. Or they could overweight me with work or humiliate me deliberately. I must admit, their disdain and hatred towards me was a sweet drink for my demonic nature. I couldn’t help but absorbed their dark destructive emotions. But there was a thing, dreadful even for me.” 

Lucia paused, needing to have a better look at that small figure. Remy didn’t turn away or lower her eyes, standing motionless instead as if sprinkled with hoarfrost, as if waiting for execution. She seemed ready to accept anything, and Lucia couldn’t bear the thought that she had put Remy in such a desperate state herself.

“There were special evenings in the mansion,” she went on, a little huskily. “They took place in the back rooms, behind the locks and thick walls, so my little lady didn’t hear those filthy sounds. I hope so much you didn’t. Your patents were regularly providing the parties for the nobles. The servants were their entertainment. I need to put it shortly, my lady. We were tortured and molested. I can remember how some nobleman was pouring boiling water on my folded palms, and I struggled to hold back my demonic power, so the burns didn’t heal immediately. I also had to apply some of my acting skills, so the executors could see the anguish they strived for.”

Remy didn't say anything, looking wobbly and close to vomiting. Something moved in the depths of those empty eyes. It was the shift of frightening darkness, prompting Lucia that she had to finish the ugly story soon. 

"There was their feast, sweetened by dreadful games and orgies — the tight mix of satisfaction, greed, and horror. You should understand and forgive, my lady. I was incapable to restrain myself from enjoying that huge sin. But the possibility of turning that celebration into a demonic feast made me feel weary. Maybe I should've made all of them burn in hell, but sometimes even demons don't want to fall that low. So each time I had to decline the seduction of revenge," she was done, finally, relieved to abandon the painful subject. 

Remy was breathing shallowly, her disgust, sorrow, and rage evaporating into the air, tickling Lucia’s senses. She inhaled the grief, and then blinked at the sight of that soul, twinkling under the floods of purifying pain. Its white hues became more vivid, as well as the dark creaks. Lucia knew that her demonic eyes should've flared with crimson red, but Remy was used to the sight, so she could allow herself not to hide. 

"I'm so happy, Lucia, that now we will spare this cursed place," Remy trailed off, landing her glance at the far forest, floating in the evening mist. 

"It's your home, my love," Lucia softly interrupted. 

She aimed to say the usual "my lady" but confused the words without noticing, and Remy, although biting her lip in anxious shyness, didn't do anything to correct her.

"You were unconscious of the crimes, committed here. I think you may show mercy towards the place and make it peaceful, the way you've always wished it to be, the way you've seen it as a child." 

"I feel that my soul will be at rest if I free myself from who I am. At least for now. So much grief was inflicted on us... I don't believe there will be a day I'll miss this place," Remy muttered to herself and made a few steps towards the gates, plunging into the shivering damp night. 

-

"You should know how much I value you, Lucia. I'm deeply grateful for the day you came to serve at my mansion, although it appeared to be a hostile place for you. I'm so sorry about that. Without you, I would've been staying here alone, would've escaped into this dark valley, searching for life or death. But with you I'm not frightened. I'm breathing in and feeling as if having a lovely trip." 

The forest protected them from the wind, so Remy's voice was sounding clear, as well as the songs of cuckoos and grasshoppers, immersing the guests in the melody of sleeping nature. The green and blue hues looked smooth, softened by the night, only Lucia’s purple suit was gleaming brightly against the dim bark of a tree.

“I thought you should know it. And I hope it’s an appropriate place and time for saying these things. I feel light and healing. I want to marry you and to continue our life journey together, no matter where it will lead. I’m disappointed in human beings and I think that hell may be a nice place while you’re holding my hand. Now, you’re the dearest for me, Lucia. The things you’ve done to me won’t be forgotten, and my deep feelings for you are eternal. You’re a demon and I need you just like that or in any form you’ll find comfortable. I will be happy if you agree to intertwine our destinies.”

“Yes, Remy. Death won’t take us apart,” Lucia gave her hand, and under the breaths of the mild night they returned on their shadowy path. 

-

They found a village soon. Remy felt the smell of burning from afar. The fire was raging here, taking away the poor houses and human lives. Remy had compassion for them. She managed to compose her face, but her lungs couldn’t stop squirming as well as her heart tearing.

She dared to turn her head to Lucia who kept herself respectfully quiet. The corners of her mouth were only barely stretched, alike of the demonic eyes, shining like the shudders of red glass. She inhaled suffer, despair, pain, and destruction, and her inner self sang, satiating with the deadly sweet potion. 

-

They left the village in silence, without making any harm, without helping either. Lucia could increase the rage of the fire, but Remy’s presence gave her enough patience to remain still, although unable to hide the demonic grin. Those crimson eyes have already faded to the calm amber hue, meaning that Lucia has got her nature under control again. Remy wasn’t afraid anyway.

“You told that death won’t take us apart,” she spoke out musingly. “I’m totally agreed. Our bond is too deep for us to be separated. But I wonder, maybe there’s also some other meaning to your words?”

“Oh, maybe. I thought about doing something to my lady when she’ll grow into an adult. If she gives me permission, of course.” 

“Tell me, dear,” Remy encouraged, suddenly feeling excited at the image of their future. 

“You’ve been to my room after the incident, right, my lady? You should’ve seen those little damages of the wood as if it was burned by the droplets of acid.”

“I did.”

“Those were my tears. I’m capable to experience genuine sorrow, but the price of it is my demonic essence. I don’t want to show evilness when I’m near my lady and love, so my power decreases. It doesn’t upset me, although soon I may become unable to protect you from other demons if some encounter happens. We should be careful and it won’t.”

“Your power leaves you when you cry?”

“You’re right. It gradually spills out. In such moments I become more human-like.”

“What will happen when you lose too much of it?” 

“I won’t vanish. I’ll stay with you, solid and still immortal, only without demonic abilities. No incredible speed and strength anymore. But that should be good, too. And I think I will be able to transform you into such creature as well if you desire that.”

“To become supernatural…” Remy hummed, feeling oddly satisfied. “I quite like the idea.”

“Then we can try it.”

“Lucia, I will be ready anytime.”

They took each other elbow and went further, entering the forest again. From the aside the one could tell he saw two fair birds, falling into the open arms of darkness.


End file.
